The Horse's Mouth
by StoneWingedAngel
Summary: One might think that one could withstand any hardship if one had a good man and a good hat but unfortunately Jeeves and the hat were at odds, and the rain showed no sign of abating.


"Any sign of civilisation Jeeves?"

"It seems not, Sir."

One never expects things to happen the way they do. And although I'm certain that life would be awfully dull if one _did_ know everything, at that particular moment, drenched to the skin with rain and with the tum protesting that it really was past supper time, I rather wished that I'd had some form of warning that the car was going to give up the ghost in the middle of the wilderness. One likes to have time to prepare oneself mentally for such circumstances. It was past dark and raining heavily – I was ankle deep in the mire, feeling rather put out at the whole turn of events and the lack of forewarning thereof.

Of course, the Wooster was not alone in said events – I had Jeeves by my side, and a sturdy alpine hat on my head. You might think that one could withstand any hardship if one has a good man and a good hat but unfortunately Jeeves and the hat were at odds, and the rain showed no sign of abating.

"Are you quite sure?" I asked, rather hoping that, for once, the fish-fed marvel of Jeeves's brain had wavered, and that there was in fact a friendly light just around the next bend in the road.

Jeeves gave me a soupy look that told me that the brain was working as well as ever, thank you very much.

"I am quite sure, Sir."

I let out a sigh so deep that it threatened to empty my lungs completely and leave the young master gasping like a fish on dry land. Mind you, it must be said that the amount of rain descending from the heavens would have been enough to keep any number of fish in rude health for at least a week. I'd never conceived that my socks could take on so much water before I put them to the true test of being lost in a rainstorm. The things were veritable sponges.

"Stiff upper lip, then? Carry on regardless?"

"Indeed, Sir."

Jeeves's manner was even more soupy than usual, and one could see his reasons – neither the weather nor my alpine hat were to his taste – but this was no time for faint heart.

"Come, Jeeves!" I strained my eyes, squinting into the gloomy distance. "I think I see a light."

"It is only the rain playing tricks, Sir."

"Pish-posh. I'd bet my hat that's a cottage, well supplied with tea and ham sandwiches."

Jeeves turned his head and eyed the alpine with a spark of suppressed glee. "Bet your hat, Sir?"

"Not really, Jeeves!" I said, jamming the headwear down on my hair to prevent the wind – or overeager valets – whisking it away. "It is rather essential in the current conditions."

Jeeves inclined his head, sending water scurrying off the brim of his bowler in a waterfall. "That, I am willing to concede, Sir."

"A truce, then!" I said, scrambling with no little difficulty over a drystone wall towards the hoped-for light. "Between you and my hat, at least until we can get out of this bally rain."

Jeeves took the wall with no less of his usual grace – the man really is a marvel – as I surveyed the field I was sinking rapidly to the knees in. There was a tree in the centre, illuminated by moonlight as if it were from a horror novel Jeeves would disapprove of, with a rather menacing grey horse sheltering underneath its branches. I am not ashamed to say that I felt a little apprehensive – although I harbour a great respect for the equine species when said species is being ridden around a track, and Bertram is merely placing bets behind a sturdy fence, I wasn't so keen on an encounter face-to-face. There was something about the blighter that set me on edge.

"We will walk past him, Sir," Jeeves said, sensing my hesitation to make good on my word, and carry on regardless. "He will not bother us."

"I don't know, Jeeves. He looks rather…morose."

"I am sure that he is simply wet and cold, much like ourselves, Sir."

At first it seemed that Jeeves, as always, was absolutely right. The horse barely looked up as we picked our way through the mud to the midpoint of the field. It only as we came level with the tree the creature caught a whiff of the Wooster-Jeeves scent and came charging over with a speed that surpassed even Bingo after his latest beau. I braced myself for the worst, screwing my eyes shut and waiting for the inevitable trampling, but after a few moments had passed and no said trampling seemed imminent, I felt obliged to speak.

"Jeeves?"

"He is not threatening us, Sir."

A reassuring touch to my arm prompted me to consider opening the eyes, but at the same instant I felt a blast of warm, horsy breath on my face, and the lids were suddenly fast shut again. "What does the dashed beast want, then?"

"I think he is hungry, Sir. Perhaps we could- oh dear."

"What?" I am not ashamed to say that the voice rose a few octaves – Jeeves scarcely ever pronounces the words 'oh dear' without good cause. At the same moment, I became aware of the rain beginning to patter on my suddenly all-too-bare head. "Jeeves?"

"I am afraid that he has eaten your hat, Sir."

The blighter had, and there was no way of getting it back – once the alpine vanished into the equine maw, even Jeeves seemed uneasy about trying to extract it. I'd never appreciated the number of teeth horses had before watching my hat being shredded by them.

"Come, Sir," Jeeves said, tugging at my arm as I stood, staring in dismay as the last scraps of the alpine were devoured. "I believe you were right – there is a light."

I looked up and saw that Jeeves spoke the truth – there was a twinkling glow at the end of the field, shining like an orange welcome beacon.

"I did like that hat," I said despondently, as Jeeves steered me away from the horse and towards the wall that ran across the far end of the field. The top of my head, which had previously been the only dry thing on the Wooster corpus, was now soaking wet. "And even if you didn't Jeeves, you have to admit, it did a bally good job of keeping the rain off."

As I approached the wall and prepared to throw a leg over it, I felt something settle on my head.

"You may borrow my hat, Sir. We are nearly there."

Jeeves's bowler was far too big for me – the Wooster craniums are not nearly the same measure as the brainy Jeevsian variety – but it kept the rain off as well as the alpine. Of course, the top of Jeeves's head was now as wet as the rest of him, whilst my own hair was still soggy underneath the bowler, but it was the thought that counted, and the hat offered the young master a new reserve of comforting energy as we attacked the last hundred metres of mire.

"Thank you, Jeeves."

I couldn't make Jeeves's face out through the rain, but I knew that he would be allowing himself a smile, most especially because he knew I couldn't see it. A valet has to keep up appearances after all.

"Not at all, Sir."

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 **End.**


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